


Mending Memories

by khalee_sica



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/M, Fix-It, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 08:53:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16658020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khalee_sica/pseuds/khalee_sica
Summary: The Night King and the White Walkers won. In death, Bran and three other Starks are given the chance to go back in time to change things positively for the Realm and his family. Will they succeed, or will they end up losing the War for the Dawn a second time?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [As High As Honor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11938071) by [calistabista](https://archiveofourown.org/users/calistabista/pseuds/calistabista). 



> This is the first thing I've written in quite a long time, and my first fanfic at that! I've always loved time travel/fix it stories and decided to try one of my own for NaNoWriMo. It's definitely not going to be done by the end of this month, but it got me kick-started, and that's all I can ask for. Chapter two has been written and will be posted soon. I don't have any type of schedule for posting, so be sure to subscribe. Let me know what you think. Also- I borrowed the idea of Winterfell being burned, and a resulting time travel from As High As Honor by Calistabista. Feel free to check it out!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war is lost.

In the end, only he, Sansa, and a few of the household staff and guard were left at Winterfell.

Everyone who was able-bodied or had even some knowledge of how to fight left with Jon and Daenerys to fight against the Night King. After a few days, Bran didn’t have to use his sight to know that they’d lost. He felt it. He was a child of the North, and cold was something he had grown up with and was used to. It had never bothered him much growing up. Even the Lands of Always Winter amongst the Raven and the Children didn’t feel so dreadful.

The cold that came with the approaching of army of the dead was different. It did more than bite at you. The hot springs inside of Winterfell’s walls did nothing against the Long Night.

It felt like the sharpest knife piercing through your skin. But unlike regular coldness, there was no eventual numbness to it. It was all you could feel, day in and day out. Besides the cold, the sun hadn’t risen in gods know how long. Still, he sat day after day in the godswood, taking in as much of the cold as he could, and tried to see what was happening.

He was able to see that all three of Daenerys’ dragons had fallen, and were now in possession of the Night King. Daenerys fell to her death from Drogon’s back, and Jon died trying to attack the Night King head on in his anger. After that, chaos reigned. All three dragons now belonged to the Night King. Jon and Daenerys were brought back as wights. The few who remained to fight were quickly killed, as their shock at seeing their leaders in an undead state left them open to attack.

This only lent more bodies to the army of the Night King, who was less than two days’ march away from Winterfell. As he told this information to Sansa in her solar, her shoulders sagged heavily.

All the hope and fight went out of her, and only fear was left. It was so hard to actually feel his emotions after becoming the Three Eyed Raven. All that power, and all of the knowledge of past and present was so overwhelming that it left him numb. But deep underneath his omniscience, he too felt fear at what was coming for them. At who was coming.

“Bran,” Sansa whispered, swallowing her tears. “If the Night King is coming here, and we have no way to stop him…then I won’t let us become part of his army. Do you understand?” Bran shook his head once. “I don’t want to become a wight any more than you do, sister. But I’m also afraid of what comes after.” Sansa quickly crossed the room and enveloped Bran in a hug that was comforting and warm despite the frigid temperatures. “You don’t have to be afraid, Bran,” she replied, wiping his face. He was surprised to find that he was crying.

“I have a plan. Do you trust me?” “Always,” Bran answered. In Winterfell’s storages, there were a few barrels of wildfire, brought back from the latest King’s Landing trip by Tyrion. They were there in case of a wight attack on Winterfell, but Sansa had another use for it.

Additionally, in Maester Wolkan’s solar, he had a multitude of different poisons and their antidotes. Bran was able to find two vials of sweetsleep. The pair of them gave leave for the scarce household members and guards to leave indefinitely.

“Get as far south as you can get with your families. I say this not to cause a panic, but our fight is lost. Stay close with your loved ones and be as safe as you can. My brother Bran and I will stay in Winterfell until the end, and our minds will not be changed. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. The gods be with us all,” Sansa spoke to the small group in parting.

As the last person walked through the gates, Sansa turned to Bran. “Are you ready, brother?” she asked. “As ready as I shall ever be,” he replied. They decided to end things on their terms in their parents’ bedroom. A place that was always full of love, coziness, and a sense of respite from outside problems.

Sansa helped Bran from his chair and laid him onto the bed. After that, she sprinkled some of the wildfire around the adjoining sitting room. Not much was needed. They both knew the power that wildfire had once it was ignited. Sansa also carefully lit a candle and set it on the floor between the shared door of the bedroom and sitting room.

When the time came, the wick would die down and it’d eventually ignite both rooms quickly and violently. Bran procured the vials of sweetsleep he had taken from Maester Wolkan, and thought about his family’s journey. His fall and subsequent emergence into the Three Eyed Raven. Jon fighting for the Watch becoming King of the North, and learning his birthright. Arya’s descent into a detached assassin. Robb’s victories and ultimate failures. Rickon’s untimely death at the hands of a madman. Sansa being tortured, sold off, and hurt countless times. Was it worth it at the end of everything?

All of their suffering and mistakes. Everything that they’d fought for. It seemed entirely pointless. With a sigh, Bran handed Sansa her vial. “It will be just like going to sleep, worry not,” Bran said, with what he hoped was a bit of comfort in his words. “How long will it take?” Sansa asked warily. “No more than five minutes. You’ll start to feel a bit of sleepiness pull at you. Then you won’t feel anything else.”

She nodded and joined him on the bed. “I hope to see you, as well as the rest of our family in the afterlife. Will you drink with me?” Sansa requested softly. “Yes,” Bran replied. His heart was heavy. And yet his sister was right. They would not join the legion of dead men walking if they could help it. The siblings uncorked their vials. Looking in each other’s eyes, they both drank the (ironically bitter) liquid down to the last drop. They laid back on the bed and let sleep overcome them for the last time.

Bran died as the poison coursed through his veins and the cold seeped into his bones.

He never felt the fire as it ripped through his ancestral home. When the Night King and his ever-growing army of wights got in sight of Winterfell, all they saw was a pile of ash.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran meets the gods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

 

Bran awoke in a seemingly empty godswood.

There were Weirwood trees as far as his eyes could see. Though their eyes still wept, their faces had smiles upon them. It was beautifully green all around, teeming with sun and warmth.

It was a perfect image of spring that Bran had missed all too well during the grips of the Long Night. Bran noticed that in the same way as his visions, he could walk freely. He also didn’t feel the emotionless state of mind he did after becoming the Three Eyed Raven.

For the first time in many years, he simply felt like…Bran. It was a joyous realization, but it was slightly marred by the fact that he had faced death before feeling like himself again. Bran looked around in surprise as a gentle wind slowly picked up around him.

It carried with it the voices of family members long gone. He could hear Arya’s boisterous laugh, combining with Rickon’s childish one. He heard his mother telling him not to climb the walls of Winterfell, and his father telling him that the only time a man could be brave was when he was afraid.

He heard Sansa singing a tune in a high, sweet voice, the way she would sometimes when they were younger. He heard Robb and Jon yelling and panting in exertion from sword training. He heard all of their voices at once, but he saw none of them.

With a jolt of energy, Bran grinned and took off running. He relished the feeling of his legs hitting the ground forcefully with every step, wondering where his family were.

“Mother?! Father?!” he yelled, cupping his hands together. He could still hear his family all around him in a raucous din, and still he saw no one. “Robb? Sansa, Jon, Rickon, Arya? Someone answer me!” Bran pleaded, finally stopping near a clearing.

He panted forcefully, and his worry was quickly turning into fear. Was he not in the afterlife with his family? Perhaps the gods were displeased with the fact that he and Sansa had taken their lives into their own hands. Was he perchance in one of the seven hells?

He was starting to feel ill at ease with the thought when he suddenly heard a voice different from that of his family members. “Worry not, young Brandon Stark. We are neither displeased nor angered at the choice you and your sister made. We have brought you here to speak with you,” an ethereal voice spoke, echoing all around him.

We he turned toward the sound, Bran saw that it belonged to a woman. She was ghostly pale, with long hair that flowed past her shoulders. It was somehow redder than his mother’s and Sansa’s.

She wore a simple brown shift and was barefoot. It was her eyes, however, that Bran couldn’t look away from. They were tinged with red. It reminded him of Ghost, Jon’s direwolf.

She looked as if a Weirwood tree had taken human form. “We? I don’t understand,” Bran replied timidly. Surely this woman wasn’t one of the gods, was she?

A peal of laughter made him swivel his head to the right. The person’s appearance confused Bran tremendously. It was ever-changing. When he first saw them, they were a tanned muscle laden man with a sword. Then a young, brown skinned woman with curly hair and radiant brown eyes.

They then flickered between a woman and man, both who looked remarkedly similar to his own mother and father. Bran then saw the face of an old, withered woman, worn down by the ages, as well as a young man with a hammer in his hands.

Finally, the person’s face settled, but Bran couldn’t see what they looked like, for they pulled a hood over their face. Realization blossomed in Bran’s heart. The hidden person had had six different features, before finally settling into the blank one.

Thinking back, the figure showed him the faces of the warrior, maiden, mother, father, crone, smith, and stranger. He glanced again at the woman who was a Weirwood come to life and realized that these must be the old and new gods personified.

The thought bewildered him. He was never as religious as either of his parents. But since learning to warg and becoming the Three Eyed Raven, he’d always believed that there was something out there that was bigger than humanity. It turned out that he was correct. But what did they want from him?

“It is true that we are the gods old and new, Brandon,” said the stranger. We have seen your kind’s suffering and were moved by it. Humanity lost its battle against the White Walkers and the Night King,” said the figure.

Its speech came out as a booming rasp, though not unkind. “We tried,” sighed Bran. “We did everything we could think of. But with one, and then all of the dragons gone, Cersei’s backstabbing, and some regions still not able to put aside their pride to help, things fell apart.”

“This we know, child,” replied the Weirwood. “This is not what we planned for humankind when the world began millennia ago. So we have brought you here to the afterlife. You, the most powerful of humans who was left at the end of everything, must make a choice.” Bran swallowed thickly, anxiety bubbling up inside him.

“What choice must I make?” Bran asked. _The only time a man can be brave is when he’s afraid_ , he reminded himself. The stranger answered in its commanding voice.

“You may stay here in the next world and be reunited with all of your family members. No harm will come to you, and you all will be together and happy for all eternity. Or…” the stranger trailed off.

“Or what?” Bran asked anxiously. “We will give you, as well as all of humanity, another chance. We will let you go back to the time before things started to go awry. Only you, as well as three of your family members, will return with all of the knowledge you gained in your first life,” answered the Weirwood.

“Back in time? So we will be younger than we were when we died?” asked Bran. “Correct,” rasped the stranger.

“We’re not promising an entirely happy ending. We’re sure that things will not be easy, and your plans might not always work out like you want them to. But armed with this previous knowledge, we believe you four can make positive lasting changes this time around.”

The old and new gods were silent after their proposal, letting Bran take in all of what they said. What a conundrum to think about! Stay here in eternal life, or try to go back in time to save humanity once more? He could still hear the faint sounds of his family in the wind.

How he missed them once they were all separated. He could just stay here with them, in this paradise. If he took the gods’ offer however, it’d be a chance to rid the world of the Night King for good.

Part of him simply wanted to take the easy route and stay. But another part of him, the part which wanted to be a knight to protect the realms of men in his youth, seemed to speak louder.

Bran nodded to himself. His mind was nearly made up, but he had to know one thing. “Will I have to lose the use of my legs this time around?” he asked uncertainly.

The Weirwood chuckled slightly. “No, my dear. We still would like you to become the Three Eyed Raven. He's been watching you since your birth and will still need a replacement, after all. But the loss of your legs has nothing to do with it this time. The earlier you make your journey, and the longer you stay there, the easier the transition will be. You will neither end up an old man in a tree or emotionless and cold,” the Weirwood replied.

Relief washed over him as he took this news in.

“While I’d love to stay here eternally with my family, I also want the chance to fix all of the mistakes we made the first time. I promise to you, the old and new gods, that my family members and I will make all the changes we can. The Night King will not destroy us this time. We will not fail,” Bran replied confidently.

“Then good luck to you and the realms of men, Brandon,” the stranger said.

“With you, we are sending back the warrior, father, and maiden. Do what you can. We will see you at the end of your next life.”

The gods then joined hands and made their way over to him.

They touched their clasped hands to his forehead, and suddenly Bran was met with the terrible, all too-familiar feeling of being pushed backwards and falling.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran is nine years old...again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving! I wanted this chapter to be longer, but I decided to break it up to be able to post quicker. I hope you enjoy! Also, although Bran has been featured as the main character in the first three chapters, it is not solely his story. From the next chapter on, different POVs will be featured besides Bran. See you next time!

A strangled gasp tore its way from Bran’s throat, waking him up. He sat up in what he realized was his childhood bedroom, gasping unevenly.

Sunlight streamed in from the window to his left and illuminated the room. With a start, he realized that little Rickon was on the other side of the small room sleeping in his own bed.

It had worked! The gods really did send him back. They’d said that with him, they’d be sending back “the warrior, father, and maiden”.

Though he had a good idea of who those three were, he still had to be sure before announcing their return to the other Starks.

“Rickon?” Bran asked aloud, surprised at how young his voice sounded to his ears. He got out from underneath the warm furs on his bed and walked to the looking glass on the dresser at the far end of the room.

He looked to be about nine years old. That would make Rickon six, Arya one-and-ten, Sansa three-and-ten, and Robb and Jon five-and-ten.

Bran walked over to Rickon’s bed, where he was still sleeping deeply. He shook Rickon awake and was amused at the cross look he received for his efforts.

“What is it, Bran? It’s barely even morning!” croaked Rickon. “Don’t be so sullen, brother. You’ll have to get up soon to break your fast anyway,” laughed Bran.

In response, Rickon just groaned and attempted to pull his furs over his head. Bran grabbed his hand before he could.

“I’ll let you sleep a little longer shortly. Just tell me this-do you remember our past lives, Rickon? How Osha helped us escape Theon’s betrayal, and how Meera and Jojen joined us on our journey? Hodor, Shaggydog, and Summer were with us as well!” finished Bran, though he was sure he knew the answer already.

“Did you have a dream from listening to Old Nan’s stories? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rickon grumbled before turning over. A smirk crossed Bran’s face as his left his brother to get a few more minutes of sleep.

He still needed to find the warrior, father, and maiden. He was sure that the father was, well, his father. Sansa was likely the maiden. And Jon was the probable candidate for the warrior, though it could be Robb  as well.

With all of their different perspectives and knowledge, Bran felt that together they could take on the pandemonium of the Seven Kingdoms, and even find ways to bring them together before the Long Night.

He and Rickon’s room was next door to Jon and Robb’s. He’d go there next and see if either was awake, and which one of them remembered.

Bran ventured into the hallway outside his room, comforted by the warmth of Winterfell’s halls. Most of all, he cherished the fact that he was whole, alive, and with his family again. No more was he “Bran the Broken”.

His parents were alive. Robb wasn’t fighting a senseless war while enemies were in his midst.

Jon wasn’t battling the Night King or his brothers of the Night’s Watch. Sansa wasn’t being hurt or used by cruel and greedy men.

Arya wasn’t running for her life or becoming an assassin without a soul. And Rickon wouldn’t ever be in the same room as Ramsay Bolton again if Bran could help it.

The Starks would endure, and this time they’d be successful in the game of thrones.

He traveled the small distance to the right of he and Rickon’s room and came to a stop at Robb and Jon’s bedroom. Although he felt giddy and eager to find all of his fellow Stark time travelers, he willed himself to calmly knock on their door instead of barging in.

Robb opened the door, looking equal parts younger than Bran remembered, weary, and very confused.

“Bran, thank the gods. Jon keeps mentioning you and having another life. Maybe you can figure out why he’s suddenly gone mad. We probably shouldn’t have gone drinking with Theon last night,” Robb sighed, ushering Bran in.

Inwardly, Bran giggled at Robb being faced with both a hangover and Jon’s seemingly irrational utterings. As he walked into the older boys’ bedroom, Jon (who also looked impossibly younger) locked eyes with him. Panicked, Jon stood up quickly. He looked to be on the edge of a breakdown.

“Bran! Please tell me I’ve not gone mad. You remember what happened before, right? Only you, Sansa, Arya, and I were left in Winterfell at the end. We tried to stop the Night King, but he had Viserion, and the Wall had fallen-“

“You see? He’s been going on like this for nearly an _hour_. Gods, my head is aching,” Robb interrupted, rubbing his temples wearily.

Bran felt a wide grin spread across his face as he realized that he’d now found one of the three who’d returned with him. “Peace, Jon. I remember everything as you do. In fact, I spoke to the gods myself after my death-the old and the new. They sent us back in time,” Bran replied with a smile.

Robb gaped like he’d never seen either one of them before in his life. “I’m either having a ridiculously realistic dream, or _I’m_ the one who’s gone mad,” he uttered to himself.

Bran could do nothing but laugh heartily at his brother’s confusion. “Worry not, Robb. What Jon and I say makes no sense now, but hopefully it will by the end of the day.” He turned his attention back to Jon.

“They spoke to me, Jon. They told me they were moved by humanity’s plight and didn’t want that to be the end for us. They decided to give me, you, and two other Starks the ability to come back before our downfall all began as well as keeping our past knowledge. I think the other two who came back with us are Father and Sansa,” Bran told him.

Jon sighed as he took in what Bran said. “Why is it that every time I die, I’m brought back?” Jon mused with a slight smirk on his face. Bran laughed at the dark jape. “You keep dying before the gods are done with you. You have very bad timing, cousin,” Bran joked in return.

Jon’s smirk turned into one of his signature frowns at being called cousin. “I still don’t know what to think about that,” he replied. “Okay, enough!” Robb yelled suddenly, causing the two other boys to jump in surprise.

“Just what do you mean by calling Jon our cousin, Bran? He’s our brother. He might not have the Stark name, but he’ll always be our brother. And what in Seven Hells is this about him dying?” Robb asked, lowering his voice to a softer timbre.

“It’s a long story, Robb,” Jon replied on Bran’s behalf. “We need to get everyone together in your parents’ solar so we can explain. We each have long and complicated stories to tell, and it will likely take the day-or longer- to get through it all.”

Robb shrugged, but accepted Jon’s answer. “I still have no bloody idea what is happening, but if you say it will eventually make sense, then I believe you. Come on, then. Let’s go see if Sansa is speaking the same nonsense you two are.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon reminisces. The third returnee is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday! Here's a longer chapter for you guys. Hope you enjoy. :)
> 
> P.S.- Forgot that ages in this universe are written a little differently (ten and-, twenty and-, etc.) I edited chapter 3 just to fix how their ages were typed.

Jon’s thoughts were all over the place as the trio walked to Sansa and Arya’s room.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how he died-the second time, that is.

He and Daenerys were in the thick of the final battle, each on the back of a dragon.

Seeing the Night King have dominion over Viserion was heartbreaking, not to mention terrifying when flying in the same vicinity as him.

Again and again, he and his aunt avoided being struck by Viserion’s bizarre freezing flames and focused on wiping out as many wights as they could from above.

Flying atop Rhaegal didn’t actually take much getting used to.

Like with Ghost, he felt a mental connection to the dragon that was unlike anything else.

The hardest part was learning all of the Valyrian commands Daenerys had taught them.

She laughed at him countless times over his strong Northern accent making his Valyrian words sound terrible.

A small smile quirked on his lips. Though Daenerys was his aunt, he truly loved her-from the moment he saw her, if he was being honest.

A few days before the battle, she’d told him that though she thought it would never happen again, she was pregnant.

Daenerys was carrying his child within her.

They both had wept with happiness, although Jon was miffed that he broke his promise of never fathering a bastard.

Daenerys had laughed and said their child would be no bastard, for they’d simply get married once the war was over.

That alone was reason enough to fight against the Night King.

Furthermore, besides Bran and Sansa who were in Winterfell, everyone he loved or cared for was fighting below against the White Walkers.

Fighting the endless horde below were Brienne, Jaime, the Hound, Gendry, Tormund, Edd, and a myriad of able-bodied fighters from across the Seven Kingdoms that they could gather in time for battle.

Even Arya was part of the group on the ground fighting the wights.

After the reunion with her that he thought would never happen, Arya had basically threatened him with bodily harm if she wasn’t allowed to fight with everyone else.

Never being able to say no to her, he simply mussed her hair, called her “little sister”, and agreed to let her fight after seeing her in a stunning display against Brienne.

In the end, White Walkers were simply too much for the realm to collectively handle, considering that it had been beaten down by years of needless war and feuds.

Too many people had died pointlessly, and it left them open to attack and outnumbered greatly.

The biggest task his family would have this time around would be stopping those wars and feuds as much as possible. The Kingdoms needed to be banded together if they wanted to win this time around.

While he and Dany managed to avoid being hit by Viserion’s flame, the Night King was able to hit Drogon dead center with an ice spear.

Drogon screamed and struggled to stay afloat for a few agonizing seconds, but ended up crashing to the ground at a gut-wrenching speed.

Daenerys was still on him when he fell.

Jon raced Rhaegal down to the ground despite fearing the worst in his mind.

If it was true, he had to see it for himself. If not, he could get Dany to a maester if he was quick enough.

But before he even made it to the ground, he saw Daenerys’ crumpled form strewn beside Drogon in the snow.

Rage exuded from him in force that he’d never felt the likes of before.

He screamed until his throat was raw and his eyes were blurred from tears.

He knew then that it was stupid, but he decided to attack the Night King head on.

His lover, his queen, was gone, and their baby inside of her. Stupid or not, he had to kill the person…the _thing_ who killed her, or die trying.

Jon got back on Rhaegal quickly and drew Longclaw to fight while in midair.

Fighting while on the dragons’ backs was something that neither he nor Daenerys had practiced, and his grief and anger made him clumsy.

The Night King mostly avoided Jon’s attempts at swooping down on him, and when he did finally fight back, he batted Jon’s sword away like a child’s toy.

Without preamble, the Night King went in for the kill and stabbed Jon in the shoulder with an ice spear.

Somehow he stayed atop Rhaegal, but he could feel the cold seeping into his body from the wound.

It was more painful that anything he’d ever had happen to him before, included being stabbed half a dozen times by his brothers of the Night’s Watch.

The cold was unforgiving and deliberate as it radiated out from his shoulder into the rest of his body.

As the biting cold simultaneously reached the top of his head and the tips of his toes, he knew no more.

Jon assumed he as well as Daenerys and the dragons became wights to do whatever the Night King bid.

He just hoped that he hadn’t caused too much death or pain in that undead and unknowing state. Especially to those he cared for.

Being brought back from death a second time was no less jarring than the first.

This time had its own unique changes, however.

He was twenty and three when he died from the Night King’s spear. Now he was ten and five.

His limbs felt gangly and Jon felt uneven in this still growing body.

He’d have to train even harder now to make up for his shorter and less muscled limbs.

Hopefully muscle memory made things easier for him, and he could teach Robb some of the moves and techniques he picked up throughout the years.

Jon didn’t relish having to fight the Night King all over again.

He was a terrifying otherworldly being who was practically impossible to beat with the amount of men they had left to fight at the end.

They _must_ be triumphant this time. The Night King could not win again.

Once they figured out who else had returned and explained their stories to the other half of the family who didn’t, the Starks would have to make a game plan.

One where the realm would be at peace for as long as possible.

Jon hoped that part of the plan involved Daenerys ending up on the Iron Throne.

Truthfully, Jon never wanted to lead or rule. But the responsibility kept finding its way towards him.

If he and Daenerys ended up together again, he’d likely rule beside her.

Many times as Lord Commander and King in the North, Jon felt like he was just making decisions by the seat of his breeches.

He’d have to research different tomes about the qualities of being a good leader. It probably wouldn’t hurt to get people’s opinions on leading as well.

Jon made a mental note to visit, or at least correspond to Maester Aemon about these matters discretely.

Thinking back to how much his body had changed from what he had grown used to, Jon glanced at Bran.

Before leaving for battle, reuniting with Bran was confusing and a little disappointing.

Jon hadn’t seen him since he left for the Night’s Watch.

He remembered the image of tiny young Bran laid carefully in his bed, looking frail and clinging to life.

Jon wasn’t sure how Bran pulled through.

When they finally met again after so many years, it was underwhelming to say the least.

Jon had wanted the kind of reunion he had with Arya. One full of laughter and love. Instead, Bran offhandedly said hello to him and continued to the godswood before asking to talk later.

Bran was cool and detached in everything he said, including the nonchalant way he told Jon of his true parentage.

Sansa tried to explain that Bran was a powerful warg and greenseer and he called himself the Three Eyed Raven.

He could have visions of the past and present, but it took much out of him.

Bran explained that he was forced to take over the role before being prepared for it, and he never got used to the amount of power flowing through him.

As Jon could understand the confusion of having sudden responsibility and power thrust upon him, he didn’t blame Bran too much for his slightly unsettling demeanor.

The Bran he encountered today after being brought back seemed miles different from the emotionless ten and seven-year-old he’d reunited with.

Though he still carried himself with the demeanor of someone older than his nine-year-old self, he seemed more like the little brother he’d known.

This current Bran was full of hopefulness and laughter despite all they’d been through.

It was a good sign that Bran was encouraged about their return.

Jon shared the optimism.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Jon snapped back to the present when he realized Robb was speaking to him.

“What was that, Robb? Sorry, I’m a bit out of sorts at the moment,” Jon said sheepishly.

“I said, where was I during you and Bran’s ‘past lives’? You didn’t mention me or Rickon. Or father or my mother either. How did things get so bad that half of us ended up gone? If this all really happened, that is. I’m still not entirely convinced this isn’t some grand jape done by you all,” Robb asked as they made to round the corner of their hallway.

While he, Arya, and Bran were the notorious prankers of the family, Jon rolled his eyes at the notion of this being made up.

He couldn’t blame Robb all that much, however. They had told him a fantastical tale; one that Jon wasn’t sure he’d believe himself if he hadn’t lived it personally.

“I know it seems near impossible, but we promise on our honors as Starks that we really returned from another time. Nearly every noble family in the realm suffered great losses, and ours was not excluded. Like I mentioned before, our stories will make sense by day’s end, but I fear that they will be far from pleasant to hear,” Jon replied.

Jon sensed that it would be difficult indeed for all of the Starks who didn’t return to hear the truth of what occurred in their past lives.

It would be hard enough to keep Robb from wanting to march straight to King’s Landing to kill Joffrey all over again. Or keeping Father (Jon decided to keep addressing Ned as his father for now) from wanting to cut down the Boltons, Umbers, and Karstarks for their treachery.

Jon just hoped that these things didn’t impede on their need to make solid plans and gain future allies.

After all, right now none of the aforementioned people had done anything untoward the Starks, so they couldn’t seek revenge for something that had not yet happened.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Robb answered uneasily.

“To give you an example, my story is probably the least upsetting, and it starts off with me becoming paralyzed from a fall,” Bran offered in what Jon suspected was helpfulness.

Robb stopped walking suddenly, looking as though he wanted to cry and scream at the same time.

“Bran!” Jon hissed. “That might not be the best way to ease Robb into all of this.”

Just then, another thought struck him that he’d have to tell Sansa as well.

“I know you still feel like a man grown at ten and seven-years-old, Bran, but the world will look at you as the nine-year-old that you present as. Be careful to guard your language and demeanor in public so as not to cause a reason for others to question your behavior. We must become used to being seen and treated as children again,” Jon said, wrapping a comforting arm around Bran’s shoulders.

Bran nodded in agreement, though his shoulders sunk somewhat as he sighed.

“Let’s just go visit Arya and Sansa. I don’t know if I can take much more from you two,” Robb muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

The girls’ room was the first on the left as they rounded the corner, and they all nearly collided with Arya.

Jon didn’t think he could smile any bigger at seeing his youngest sister the way he remembered before leaving Winterfell.

She was a skinny, tiny wisp of a girl with an attitude and personality twenty times bigger than she was. He hoped that she’d never change.

Right now, she had a scowl on her face that was tinged with worry as she stared at her older brothers.

“Arya, what is it? You look concerned about something,” Jon commented.

His brothers waited on Arya’s reply as well.

“I think something’s the matter with Sansa,” she admitted. “I know we don’t get along most of the time, but she seems different somehow,” Arya continued.

“She woke me up this morning with her crying, and she keeps saying that she should be dead. That doesn’t sound like something she would ever say. It…it scares me, honestly.”

“Come, Arya,” Bran said, stepping forward toward their sister. “There’s something we need to discuss with you and Sansa. Rickon too, if he ever wakes up,” Bran muttered.

The Stark brood made their way into the sisters’ room after Arya knocked softy on the door to announce their arrival.

Sansa bid them enter and Jon could hear the grief in her voice as she did.

It was only moments after they were all inside that the still abed Sansa noticed Bran. Her tear-streaked face changed from sorrow to fury with a frightening quickness.

Jon was surprised that she unleashed her anger onto Bran, glaring at him as he stood feet away from her bed.

“I don’t know how, but I know you made this happen, didn’t you, Bran? We should all be dead. Why are we back here, and why are we so young? Tell me we haven’t gone to the seven hells!” Sansa cried at Bran.

Her volume became louder in pitch the angrier she got, until they were all wincing-Robb most of all.

So it was true that Sansa had also returned from their past life.

That only left Father to check in with. Gods only know how that would go, although Jon predicted that it’d go better than how Sansa was taking things currently.

Bran frowned, puzzled at Sansa’s response.

“It’s true that I made us return. When I died, I went to the afterlife and spoke to the old and new gods. The gave half of the Starks all of our prior knowledge and a chance to start from the beginning, before all the wars and fighting. You, me, Jon, and Father have returned, though we haven’t spoken to Father yet. I though you’d be glad. It’s another chance to get things right! We can win against the Night King this time, Sansa. We can have peace,” Bran answered passionately.

Sansa responded, “I didn’t _want_ to come back!” at the same time that Arya screeched, “Have you all lost your minds?!”

“Get used to it, Arya. Apparently what they’re saying is true, but it doesn’t make it sound any less crazy. They swore on their honor as Starks. They would not lie on that,” explained Robb to Arya with a bemused smile.

Jon walked over to Arya and knelt until he was eye-level with her.

“Give us a few minutes to work out why Sansa’s so upset and we can break our fasts with Father and Lady Catelyn. We’ll go more into depth then,” Jon whispered, mussing her hair.

Arya knocked his hand away in mock outrage as he stood up, but his words seemed to calm her.

They turned their attention back to Bran and Sansa.

“Are you saying you’d have rather stayed dead? Surely you don’t mean it, Sansa!” Bran cried, furrowing his brows.

“I don’t know if I would have preferred death. However, I now understand what you said when we reunited, Jon,” Sansa answered with a nod to him, but quickly turned back to Bran.

“I’m _tired_  , Bran. Tired of fighting. Fighting for justice against a royal family who would never give it to us. Fighting to avenge or family members from the traitors who were unknowingly beside them. Fighting for a broken realm which was falling apart because of a mad queen and a lecherous, greedy man who purposely caused as much chaos as possible,” Sansa said hotly, counting off her reasons on her fingers.

“All I know is that in death, I won’t be beaten as a plaything for Joffrey’s deranged whims. I won’t be traded as chattel from husband to husband in order to help promote the notions of others who wish to move up in the world. I won’t have to see my family become separated and torn apart while I’m helpless to it all. Why be brought back just to go through all of this again?,” Sansa asked, tears falling freely down her face.

Arya and Robb looked equal parts incredulous and furious at Sansa’s brief description of what had happened to her, but Jon locked eyes with Robb.

“Ask later,” he mouthed quietly. Robb hesitated but nodded in agreement and put a hand on Arya’s shoulder to stop her outcry at Sansa’s treatment.

Bran quickly crossed the room and enveloped Sansa in a tight hug. He brushed her tears away as best he could.

“Now it’s my turn to wipe your tears,” Bran said reassuringly.

Sansa smiled at his response and her tears started to slow as Bran began to speak.

“I’m sorry, Sansa. The gods didn’t give me a choice on who they were going to bring back, but I didn’t think about how hard this might be for you. Among us four, you went through some of the hardest things imaginable, and I’m so proud of you for making it through. You are one of the strongest people I know. I know you’ll be one of people who will help turn things around for us this time. Things don’t have to be the same as they were, Sansa. With us working together, we can make sure that no one ever hurts you like those others did before. I know being back here can trigger a lot of emotions and anxiety. But we shall all protect each other. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,” Bran finished, hugging Sansa tightly again.

“You are much changed from the Bran I knew at the end before,” Sansa said softly. “I believe that you believe in your words. I don’t know that I have it in me to trust that no hurt will come to me this lifetime. I think the Starks will be stronger this time, however. For now, that is enough for me,” Sansa said with a sad smile.

“I’m glad to hear it, sweet sister,” Bran said optimistically.

It seemed that they were all less on edge now that the tension in the room was gone.

Robb fetched Sansa a handkerchief so she could dry her eyes and wipe her face. Once she had calmed down, the boys were sent outside so that the girls could get dressed for the day.

As they waited, Bran turned his attention to Jon.

“We’ve now confirmed three of our four returns from our past life. Are you ready to speak with Father?” he asked.

It hit Jon that this would be his first time seeing his father before he had ridden off to join the Watch.

Fear, anger, and anticipation coursed through him at the thought.

Jon wondered what he’d say to Father once the truth that he knew who his parents were came out.

“Not really,” Jon confessed. “But I can’t wait to see him again.”

As the girls came out a moment later, Sansa demanded that the boys get dressed as well since it was likely to be a long day and they might not come back to their rooms until it was nighttime.

After taking a few minutes to do just that, as well wake an unusually grumpy Rickon, it was time for the siblings to confront the last returnee, their father, on his past life.

Jon thought back on everything that had happened to him and the things he had done to survive.

Qorin Halfhand. Ygritte. Mance. The Bolton bastard. Daenerys. It all flashed before him in his mind.

Though Eddard was his uncle in truth, Jon still hoped that he hadn’t let his father down with his deeds.

Before Jon could get too deep in his brooding, he mustered up his courage, took a deep breath, and walked to his father’s solar with his siblings.

Time to face his father’s scrutiny.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned has returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! Sorry for the wait. Being sick for a week was exhausting, and for some reason it was hard for me to get into writing from Ned's POV. I want to write him correctly and it's a little overwhelming! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! A few changes I've made that are apparent in this chapter:
> 
> -The kids are definitely aged up in this fic if it wasn't obvious before.  
> -Jon's birth name is Aemon.  
> -Jon's eyes can sometimes seem purple in the right light.

 

Ned did not know which one he scared more-himself or Cat as he woke up with a hoarse scream.

Beside him, Cat gasped herself awake and sat up straight as a board. He knew that he should comfort her, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak at the shock of being here, abed, in Winterfell.

He was just in the great sept of Baelor, his ears ringing from the fervor of the crowd taunting and screaming at him. If he focused, Ned was sure that he could still feel the bits of food and waste dripping off of his head and shoulders that the commoners had thrown his way.

How? How in the world had Ned gone from being forced to confess a lie in a viper’s pit to being where he wanted to be the most?

It couldn’t possibly have been a dream, could it? Everything felt so real.

Serving justice to the deserter. Finding the direwolves. Robert’s arrival. Bran’s fall. The quarrel with his daughters and that abomination Joffrey. Killing Lady. The kidnap of Tyrion. Jaime injuring Ned’s leg and the massacre of his household guard. Approaching Cersei. Robert’s death and Renly’s offer.

It had all lead to disaster for Ned and the Stark household in King’s Landing.

For the sake of his daughters, Ned had agreed to confess that Joffrey was the true king, falsehood though it was.

Ned did not like to do anything to besmirch his honor unless necessary, and he felt that this was necessary for their safety.

His stomach roiled as his remembered only seeing Sansa amongst the royals and highborn gathered to view his admission.

What had Cersei or her twisted progeny done with Arya?

Furthermore, why wasn’t he dead? It simply made no sense.

Beside him, he was just barely able to focus on the fact that Cat was speaking to him.

“-the matter? Ned? Do you need Maester Luwin?”

He turned to face Catelyn to the right of him, and he stared in surprise. She looked younger than she had in years, and as beautiful as ever. Her auburn hair hung down all around her, disturbed by sleep, and her face was etched with worry.

She would proclaim that she looked a fright, but her face was one that Ned had wanted to see for months now. He enveloped her in a bone-crushing hug and his shoulders sagged in relief to be reunited with her. He could nearly weep from happiness.

Cat eventually squirmed under his tight embrace and Ned let go soon after. Her hands gripped both of his shoulders tightly with concern.

“Not that I don’t enjoy receiving affection from you, Ned, but I must ask what’s going on? You haven’t woken up like that in years…not since you came back after the rebellion. And you look pale and feverish,” Cat commented as she looked into his eyes.

“I fear I might be losing my mind, sweet Cat. The last thing I remember is being in King’s Landing. Joffrey ordered me to be beheaded and-“

“What?! What are you saying Ned? Why would that ever happen? Surely it must have been a dream. Robert still rules, and Joffrey is only a boy, scarcely older than Sansa,” Cat cried.

This only confused Ned further. “Robert still rules? Did I really dream it all?” he murmured to himself.

But he could remember every detail of what had happened. It couldn’t possibly have been a dream. It felt too real.

He remembered that Jon Arryn died and Robert came to Winterfell in the year 297 AC. Maybe he could figure out what was going on by confirming the year.

“What year is it, Cat?”

“Now I really must insist that you see Maester Luwin. Your behavior is troubling me. It’s 294 AC, Ned,” Cat replied gently.

Shock radiated through him as he heard what year it supposedly was. That couldn’t be right.

How had he gone from what he had known as 297 AC to three years beforehand? People couldn’t simply go forward or backwards in time. It was unheard of, even in those outlandish stories Old Nan told the children. Unless…maybe his wits were leaving him?

He raked his hand down his face in bafflement.

“I have no explanation for what is happening to me, my lady. It could be that I simply dreamed it, but from what I can tell, I was just in the year 297 AC. My very life was in danger because of the treachery and deception that goes on in King’s Landing. What madness had to have occurred to bring me to what I believe is the past?” Ned asked his wife in disbelief.

“I know not, Ned, but I will be with you as we figure this out together. Come, let’s dress and gather the children to break our fasts. Afterwards, we can visit the maester discreetly to let him know what is going on,” Cat replied, taking his hand in hers.

She smiled gently, but it was clear that she was still fretful over what he had told her.

“I suppose you’re right, my love. Despite things seeming quite different upon waking, I don’t feel any pain or dizziness. I’m not in a rush to see Luwin fuss over me, but perhaps he has an answer to my confusion,” Ned agreed.

Ned watched as Cat moved to prepare herself for the day.

She still did her morning routine on her own; dressing, washing up, and doing her hair into intricate styles daily. Cat never wanted handmaidens to wait on her throughout the years and encouraged Arya and Sansa not to be waited on either.

Ned thought it was because from the beginning of their marriage, Cat had wanted to prove to Winterfell and the North that although she was a Southern lady, she was no spoiled shrinking violet. She was more than capable of helping rule and defend their home, as well as raising strong Northern ladies.

Ned wondered if it left her lonely as time went on.

He admired her independent spirit nevertheless and vowed to stay here with her much longer than he did in what he thought of as “the 297 AC timeline”. Cat and his entire family were too precious to him. He would not make imprudent mistakes that would jeopardize himself or his family this time.

“Are you not going to prepare for your day, my lord husband?” Cat asked with mirth in her voice. She stood at their settee, where there was looking glass placed above. She was putting the finishing touches on a classic Northern-styled braid that she had chosen for the day.

“Apologies, Cat. I was merely thinking on the mistakes I made in what I suppose you could call this past life of mine,” Ned confessed.

“There were many made on my part, although I must admit that you made some rash decisions as well,” he added with a sly smile. Trusting Littlefinger and Tyrion’s capture was ill done, no matter how much Ned could recognize that Cat only wanted the truth of what happened to Bran and justice done for him.

“I did? I must admit that I’m not sure what to think about you coming back from a different future, but I would like to hear about the things I did in it,” Cat replied, turning towards him.

Ned crossed the room and placed a chaste kiss to Cat’s forehead. “Thank you for not immediately thinking of me as a mad man,” Ned said with a smile. “I do not know how or why this has happened, but I would not lie to you about it. I do not deserve you,” he finished.

“Of course I believe you, husband. You’ve never given me cause to think of you as a perpetual liar before. And I love you as well,” Cat replied.

Guilt coursed through him at her answer. There was only one thing he had ever lied to her about, and there wasn’t a day that went by without him thinking of it.

The circumstances of Jon’s birth were tragic and heartbreaking for him. To finally find his sister after not knowing where she was for over a year, only to have her taken away by childbed fever only minutes after…

It still hurt now, almost two decades later. He grieved for Father and Brandon heavily, but Lyanna’s death hurt all the more because it seemed that she was ripped away from him so quickly after seeing her alive and their reunion.

All he had left of her was little Aemon, who of course couldn’t keep his given name. Ned instead named him after his foster father, who had raised him as much as his real father had. Only himself and Howland Reed knew of the truth regarding Jon.

As he’d travelled back to King’s Landing to tell Robert that Lyanna was dead, all he could keep thinking about was Aegon and Rhaenys’s tiny broken bodies laid upon that blood red cloth.

How Robert had smirked and called them ‘dragonspawn’. How he had practically spat the word with undue hatred.

Ned knew that Robert couldn’t know the truth of Jon’s parentage. He did the only thing he could think of that would comply with Lyanna’s last wish to protect Jon, which was to claim him as his bastard.

It was lucky that Jon took after the Stark coloring, although it made Ned very nervous that Jon’s flint grey eyes could sometimes flash a light purple if you looked just the right way.

It was why he let the rumors of him and Ashara go on as long as they did, hurtful though they were to Cat.

While he fancied Ashara at the tourney at Harrenhal, it went no further than a few dances and a furtive kiss.

When he returned to Winterfell after the war, all he wanted was to reunite with his wife and see his son and heir, Robb. And that he did, but he could not have imagined the chill that cropped up between them when he introduced Jon as his bastard.

He truly loved Cat from the beginning and wanted many times just to tell her the truth about the boy to make things better for Jon’s sake and hers. But whenever he thought he was ready, a tight lump began to form in his throat, his eyes would get misty, and he couldn’t make himself say the words.

His grief for Lyanna was so strong in those early years that Ned felt as though he would drown in it. In the end, he convinced himself that it was better this way. If anyone ever found out the truth, Cat could honestly declare ignorance of Jon’s royal bloodline. And if it seemed like she truly hated the boy rather than be tolerant of him if she knew the truth, no one would look too closely or become suspicious of her behavior.

And so he let Cat go on thinking that Jon was a bastard, and never speaking to Jon about his mother.

He felt like a coward countless times over the situation. But every time he thought about telling either his wife or his nephew the truth, he came back to the belief that it was for the best. If Jon decided to declare his birthright, the realm would deteriorate into chaos. If Cat found out the truth about Jon being Lyanna’s, would her sudden acceptance of him bring suspicion or intrigue from servants, Northmen, and Varys’ little birds?

No, it was clear that although difficult for everyone involved that it was the right thing to do.

Ned cleared his throat and gave Cat a watery smile that he was sure betrayed his thoughts.

“Give me a few minutes and I will be ready as well. I don’t have nearly the amount of hair maintenance that you do,” he japed.

He got dressed in his modest and traditional Northmen garb, glad that he wouldn’t be sticking out like a sore thumb-the way he did in King’s Landing. He would not miss the unbearable heat of that city either.

Once he was dressed, combed his hair, and had washed his face, Ned and Cat set out to see whether their children were awake and ready for their day also.

Each of them save Sansa had a horrible time actually getting out of bed every morning, so he doubted the majority were up yet.

As he and his wife left their rooms, he was pleasantly surprised to hear the ruckus of what sounded like all of his children out in the hallway already.

“Well, I suppose we won’t have to drag them out of their beds kicking and screaming like usual,” Cat smiled at him.

“I don’t even hear any sign of bickering. What has come over our children?” Ned asked, half joking and half wondering himself the sudden difference in them.

As the couple rounded the hallway corner, they saw their brood a good distance away down the corridor, chatting amongst themselves.

A serving maid was passing through when Jon called out to her.

“Alys, isn’t it? Will you let the kitchens know that we’d like to break our fasts with Lord and Lady Stark this morning?”

Ned was struck at the subtle difference in Jon’s mannerisms.

Because of being thought of as a bastard, Jon was never one to be outgoing or confident. Most often when adults spoke to him, he could barely keep eye contact or speak above a murmur.

That’s not to say he had no self-esteem, but the weight of people’s perceptions clearly took a toll on him.

The Jon he saw before him was clearly more confident than Ned had ever seen. He spoke freely and powerfully amongst Winterfell’s halls and didn’t shrink back from the attention of the household staff or others. It was as if he shrugged off everyone’s preconceptions about him being a bastard overnight.

The serving maid’s response soon after might bring that newfound confidence crashing down, Ned thought as he heard her sneered answer.

“I don’t take orders from you, _bastard_.”

He motioned for Cat to slow their canter as he observed Jon’s response. The children hadn’t noticed them yet, and he wanted to see how Jon, as well as everyone else, would respond to Alys’ rudeness.

Jon didn’t have time to say anything else to Alys, for as soon as the words left her mouth, a clamor erupted from his children in defense.

He heard Arya’s angry fierce reply of, “He’s my brother! Don’t talk to him that way, you stupid!”

He was quite surprised at hearing Sansa take up for Jon immediately after. She usually hung back from Jon, wanting her mother’s approval for ignoring him like Cat did.

“Bastard or no, I’d like to know who gave you leave to speak to a member of house Stark this way.” Sansa’s eyebrows went up in askance as she waited on an answer from Alys. A stern look crossed Sansa’s face.

Alys was likely beginning to regret her snubbing of Jon. “No…no one did, milady,” Alys replied carefully to Sansa.

“Well now that that’s clear, maybe if you won’t listen to Jon, you’ll listen to me. Tell the maids in the kitchens what my brother told you the first time. And let this be a lesson to you. Every member of house Stark is to be treated respectfully, no matter who they are,” Sansa replied with a smile that looked like a veiled threat.

Ned was alarmed at Sansa’s behavior. Not her defense of Jon, but in her demeanor changes as well. Sansa had always been the most fanciful and dainty of the girls. It seemed that she had turned from a girl who pined to live in a fairy tale to one who had a harsh dose of reality about life. She’d never spoken to any of their serving girls or staff in that manner before. It worried him.

That’s now two of his children he’d noticed a change in. What was it about today that had transformed them all so drastically?

“Of course, milady,” Alys answered with a quick curtsy before nearly running toward the direction of the kitchens.

Arya and Robb looked at Sansa with unveiled awe in their eyes. “I’ve never heard you stick up for Jon before, Sansa. I’ve never heard you speak so severely before, as a matter of fact! That convinces me,” Arya said, her voice full of wonder. “Your story was just proved true in my eyes. The Sansa from yesterday would have never done that. You really must have come from a different time!”

At that, Ned actually stopped walking as he digested what Arya was saying. Sansa claimed she had come from another time? He wondered if it had happened to Jon as well.

It would explain the difference in how they were acting. If it was true, Ned wondered what had happened to them all after his pointless death in King’s Landing. Gods, he hoped they’d all been safe and unhurt, unlikely though it probably was.

He looked at Cat with confusion in his eyes.

“Did you hear that?” he whispered. She nodded back in bewilderment.

As if a spell was broken, Ned quickly strode through the corridor to his children.

“Father!” they chorused.

Before he could reply to any of them, he was engulfed in hugs by both Bran and Sansa. Jon looked as if he wanted to do the same but seemed apprehensive.

“Did you return too, Father?” Bran asked hopefully.

Ned let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“The last thing I remember is being at the sept of Baelor in King’s Landing. Robert had died and Joffrey was king. He was going to kill me for treason, though it was a lie. It wasn’t a dream, was it?” Ned whispered hoarsely, holding on to Bran and Sansa tightly.

“No, father. It wasn’t,” Jon replied softly, finally joining his siblings in the shared hug. “Welcome home.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon reveals a secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers! I'm back two months to the day since my last update! Sorry for the wait. Sickness, holidays, writer's block and anxiety/depression do not make for a good writing combo. But I finally finished this chapter!
> 
> Here is the 'showdown' between Ned, Jon, and Catelyn everyone has been wondering about. Let me know what you think!
> 
> Hope you enjoy, and I will work on getting the next part out (in under two months this time!). :)

Seeing Ned Stark alive and well again was every bit as bittersweet and perplexing as Jon thought it’d be.

It wasn’t the pure joy and relief he had felt at seeing all of his siblings, or cousins in truth, hale, healthy, and whole again. 

Jon felt as if he had failed them all in the final battle with the Night King. So ultimately, as strange as it was being returned from death yet again, he felt invigorated and optimistic about his family’s return.

But seeing Father in the flesh again was bringing up so many feelings he didn’t have time to work through after finding out the truth of his parents. Nearly as soon as he found out, he had to be off to battle and couldn’t let the news cloud his thoughts overmuch.

Now that he and his family had come back from that awful timeline, equal parts of joy and irritation ate at him when he looked upon Ned Stark.

He truly understood why his father had lied all this time, but he wished he had at least been told the truth before going to the Wall.

Some of his anger came from the fact that his father knew what the Wall was, and how it’d be for him. And still, Ned let Jon go without even letting him know the truth of his heritage or the Wall’s deterioration of character and honor.

Only Uncle Benjen had tried to warn him of what he’d be giving up. Jon was just too young and stubborn back then to hear the truth of what his uncle was saying.  
Jon reckoned he wouldn’t have gone to the Wall in the first place if he knew who his parents were.

He doubted he’d be trying to claim the crown, as he thought his father might have feared.

But maybe he would have stayed closer to Robb’s side and helped to avoid some of the situations Robb ran into along the war that led to him losing it.

If instead it turned out that Lady Catelyn would not abide his presence any longer at Winterfell, he could have traveled with Ned and his sisters to King’s Landing. Perhaps he could have squired for someone like Ser Barristan and made a name for himself that way.

Besides, everyone only saw the Stark looks he possessed when looking upon him. Jon very much doubted anyone would dare suspect Targaryen anywhere in his bloodline.

He could have helped Father with his suspicions of the Lannisters or protected the girls so that they wouldn’t have argued or gotten separated in the first place.

There were so many outcomes that Jon could have changed to make the course of their timeline entirely different. There could have possibly been less death and tragedy for them all, if only he knew the truth of himself before becoming bound to a lifelong organization.

There was all of that as well as the way Ned ultimately let Jon be treated as a bastard his entire life unnecessarily.

Servants, Theon, other Northmen, and most of all, Lady Catelyn, never let him forget his place in life. 

It left his self-esteem in tatters for years growing up and after joining the Watch. He was just a bastard, after all, and that meant you were less than just about everyone.

It took years of getting used to the even more demeaning insults and offenses thrown his way in the Night’s Watch before Jon built up his courage and self-assurance to the level of being Lord Commander and then King in the North. 

Perhaps leaving the awkwardness behind now and growing more confident earlier this time around would help him in becoming a better leader if or when the time came.

It certainly wouldn’t hurt anything, although Jon did wonder if the household staff would gossip about his change in personality. With half of the family returning from that dim future, they might not just be gossiping about Jon if his siblings also had severe personality changes.

Jon looked around at his entire family, where they were seated amongst a medium-sized table in the sitting room which adjoined Lord and Lady Starks’ bedroom.

Its usual function was for treating with guests of Winterfell or smaller more intimate family gatherings such as the one they were in now. 

His father sat at the head of the table with Lady Catelyn to his left. 

Sansa, Bran, and Rickon were seated beside their Mother. To Father’s right were Robb, Arya, and Jon himself.

Despite the fact that a great deal of food was just brought to them for the breaking of their fast, no one seemed to want to be the first to eat.

Everyone was more than a little uneasy and apprehensive to start their day as usual when everything seemed to have changed overnight. 

Sensing the mood of his family, Ned cleared his throat and received the attention of them all.

“Listen, everyone. I know we’ve all been dealt quite a shock regarding this…returning business,” he murmured softly, looking each member of his family in the eye before continuing.

“Whether you’ve returned or not, it’s something that will take some time to sink in before ultimately seeming real. Until then, let us break our fasts as usual. Then we shall discuss our predicament and what occurred in our lives before the return. Afterwards, mayhaps we can even come up with ways to deter certain events and all of the horrors our family surely faced. For now, I only wish to spend precious time with you all. It is something I missed fiercely,” Ned finished with a small smile.

Jon could not disagree with his father there. All he had wanted since leaving Winterfell was to be back there, safe and with his family.

Now that his father was done speaking, there were quiet murmurs of agreement and nods as her family relaxed a bit and started to eat.

To break their fast that day, the Starks were served creamy porridge topped with berries and drizzled with honey. Roasted potatoes, fried eggs, and thick slices of bacon sat on the table as well. 

Finally, there was a loaf of bread that had been toasted and cut into slices along with butter and jam for spreading.

It felt like a veritable feast compared to what was left by the end of it all. Jon couldn’t remember the last time he had seen so much food together in one place.

It made him all the more determined to communicate with his father the importance of building more relationships with places outside of the North (such as the Reach) for food options, and to build more glass gardens throughout the North. 

Fighting the White Walkers had been bad enough. The realm did not need to starve at the same time.

Saving the plotting for another time, Jon began to dig into his food. Before he had gone off to the Night’s Watch, Ned always japed that when it came to Jon, Robb, and Theon, there was never such a thing as “too much food”.

In the past, he probably would have had two helpings of everything with no problem. Now though, when he was used to eating scarcely, it was a struggle to try to eat everything offered without becoming too full.

Jon had to admit though, it was a very nice change from watery broths and the rare hard roll or two.

His family continued to eat in a relaxed silence despite the strangeness of the day.

As the meal was coming to an end, Ned nodded Jon’s way. “You don’t seem to have as big of an appetite as you used to, lad. What happened?” he asked with a wry smile.

“I see quite the same from Sansa and Bran as well,” Catelyn interjected softly. “What went on in these other lives of yours that you’re not used to eating as much anymore?”

“We were at war, Mother,” Sansa replied quietly. “The entire realm, but the North especially, had to conserve as much food as we could.”

The idea of the realm being at war piqued the interests of the rest of their siblings.

“Jon, did you, Robb, and Bran fight in it?” Rickon exclaimed excitedly.

“Who were you at war with?” Robb asked with only a little less intensity.

Jon, Bran, and Sansa locked eyes with each other across the table. They knew the truth, but would their family actually believe it?

Then again, Jon, Bran, Sansa, and Ned had been sent back for a reason. They had to trust that their loved ones would believe the things they told them, however ridiculous it might sound.

Bran took a deep breath before looking up and answering Robb. 

“We were at war with the Night King…and his army of White Walkers,” Bran replied with some uncertainty. 

Everyone took that declaration in different ways.

Rickon looked terrified, as any 6-year-old would at the thought of the walking dead.

Robb looked equal parts unsure and alarmed.

Ned looked bewildered and furrowed his brows in worry.

Arya doubled over laughing like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard in her life.

Everyone’s head snapped her way as her laughter permeated the room.

“Arya!” Lady Catelyn hissed at her. “Compose yourself.”

Her giggles tapered off as she looked between her returned siblings and Ned, searching for signs of a jape between them.

Jon bit back a smirk lest she think him playing her false, but it was such an Arya reaction to have. He would enjoy being back in her company again.

“Wait…you’re actually serious?” Arya asked, red-faced and breathless. “The Seven Kingdoms truly fought against someone who is from a fabled tale of old?”

“Those tales had to come from somewhere,” Bran answered. “As time went on, it was assumed that they were something made up to scare small children into behaving. In the end it turned out to be true. It’s why we’ve returned. The realm at large needs to be warned, or at least prepared for their arrival,” he finished.

“Ned, is this truly what happened in your past lives? Gods, if it weren’t for you claiming to return as well, I’d say this was a jape that had been going on for far too long,” Lady Catelyn sighed with her face contorted with confusion.

Ned looked no less confused as he answered her. “I admit, I know nothing about this apart from what I thought was the mad ravings of a Watch deserter. Much more must have happened after…” Ned trailed off uncomfortably.

“After what Joffrey did,” Sansa supplied for him with a grimace. “It’s true Father, the real war against the Night King did not start for true until years after you were gone. That’s why the earlier and more prepared we are, the better off we will be.”

“And Bran promised that everyone who returned would swear on their honor as a Stark that this was not some trick they’re trying to pull on us, Mother,” Robb replied, nodding Catelyn’s way. “That’s something not even Rickon would play with,” he continued, ignoring Rickon sticking his tongue out at him. “Whatever they tell us, no matter how it must sound, I trust them. We all must.”

“And what of him?” Lady Catelyn asked, her voice low and full of dislike. Jon realized she was glaring in his direction. “He’s not a Stark. Can we trust his word as well?”

Jon sighed inwardly. There it was- the intense revulsion and judgment over his perceived birth status. He’d roll his eyes if he weren’t so irritated.

Their family was just informed that none of them make it out alive in the future they came from and that they need to be ready for the Night King, but Lady Catelyn was still focusing on his ‘bastardy’.

“Mother!” Sansa and Arya cried together nearly simultaneously.

“You always speak of the importance of acting like a lady, yet you act openly bitter towards a motherless child. A child who has never done you any wrong, I add,” Sansa replied boldly.

“I don’t believe I asked for your input on this matter, Sansa,” Lady Catelyn answered in a clipped tone. She was staring at Sansa as though she didn’t quite know who she was anymore. “And I only speak the truth. The boy does not have the Stark name.” 

He was tired of this ongoing fight and how unnecessary it was. His family needed to be united in their second chance, and situations like Lady Catelyn’s pure dislike of him had to stop. 

While it might cause some drama and commotion now, Jon made the decision to tell his family the truth of his parentage. They all could collectively move past it afterwards and finally work together to plan their future.

Jon looked up and locked eyes with Lady Catelyn, something he hadn’t dared do since he was four or five-years-old. Her surprise was written all over her face.

“You’re right, Lady Catelyn. I am no Stark,” he smiled mirthlessly. “Growing up, I was constantly reminded of the fact that you saw me as a mere bastard. A bastard who your husband dishonored you with and a threat to your trueborn children.”

“You painted me with the same broad brush that most people in the Seven Kingdoms do once they hear the word ‘bastard’. Although I find it a bit funny that no one seems to recognize the irony in their judgment. Bastards are treated as the lowest of the low, yet people wonder why they end up bitter. Bastards are told they’re made from lust and are therefore lust-filled and evil. It’s not strange that they then act on their feelings of desire as they grow up. And bastards constantly have their father’s name dangled in front of them their whole life as something they’ll never have. Is it any surprise at all that some bastards will turn to violence or treachery just for a chance of getting a true name?” Jon spat, not being able to hold his opinion in any longer.

“I care not to hear any excuses for your bastard nature. I will not be spoken to this way, and certainly not by you!” Catelyn retorted, turning her glare from Jon to Ned, presumably hoping for him to put a stop to this conversation.

“Jon, lad, I know you’re upset-“ Ned started, but Jon cut him off, still staring at Lady Catelyn.

“Haven’t you ever noticed that I never seemed to act on any of those things I mentioned? I was always bashful, yes, but never bitter. I never acted like a lust-filled fool, unlike Theon, who is again, trueborn. And I would never in any lifetime hurt or usurp your children. Even if that shite about bastards’ nature was true-which is isn’t, as I’ve meant terrible people who were trueborn and wonderful people who were not-you must admit, I did not exhibit any of those habits. Maybe it’s because I’m not a bastard at all. Isn’t that right, Uncle?” Jon finished, finally turning his gaze towards Ned.

He exhaled slowly. While it’s true he wasn’t bitter about his upbringing, there was clearly some resentment that he had held onto after so long. Now the truth was out, and it was so quiet in the small sitting room that you could hear a sewing needle drop to the floor.

The color quickly drained from Ned’s face as his Adam’s apple bobbed visibly in his throat. Jon almost felt bad about bringing up the truth so unexpectedly, but he had his reason for it.

“Wh…what do you mean, Jon? Are you not my brother?” Robb asked shakily, making Jon glance past Arya’s surprised face to lock eyes with him. Robb looked puzzled and upset at Jon’s declaration.

“In spirit, I am and will always be your brother, Robb. In blood however, I am not. I’m your cousin in truth. You see, Robert’s Rebellion was based on a lie. Elia Martell could have no more children, and my father, Rhaegar Targaryen, was obsessed with a prophecy which he thought meant he needed to have three children. ‘The dragon must have three heads’. My father took after the Targaryen ways of old and took another wife. He married my mother, Lyanna Stark, secretly. Everyone thought he simply kidnapped her, but they were truly in love,” Jon started.

“I was born in a place dubbed ‘The Tower of Joy’ in Dorne where my mother was hidden away. When I was born, Lord Stark had just arrived, and was told by my mother that I was to be named Aemon Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne. She was bleeding uncontrollably and pleaded with him to protect me from King Robert, who was recently delighted with the deaths of my half-siblings, Aegon and Rhaenys. She knew that if Robert found out that I was ‘dragonspawn’ also, he’d never let me live, never mind being Lyanna’s son and Ned’s kin. And thus, the honorable Ned Stark sacrificed his honor by claiming me as a natural born son.” Jon spoke the truth softly, his anger and resentment cooling as he spoke. 

Catelyn turned towards Ned and gasped out,” Is this true? Have you been lying to me for our entire marriage? ”

Ned faced his wife and softly replied, “I will not deny this, my lady. It is as he says. I know I’ve hurt both of you with my deception. I don’t beg your forgiveness, only that you try to understand my justifications.”

Jon looked upon Ned Stark, the only father he’d ever known. For the first time in Jon’s life (lives, really), he saw him shedding tears. Besides Bran and Sansa (and Rickon, who was mostly confused), everyone looked positively shocked at this news.

As the tears streaked down Ned’s face silently, he asked Jon one question. “How did you find out? Howland Reed and I were the only ones alive who knew of this.”

Jon nodded his head across the table to Bran. “Bran told me,” he replied simply.

Confusion colored Ned and Catelyn’s faces as they took this information in.

“Bran?” Ned questioned his son. “How?”

Bran cleared his throat and spoke. “In our past lives, all of the Stark children had direwolves, as you know, Father. It turns out that all of us, even Jon, are wargs. Besides being a warg, I am also a powerful greenseer. I learned under the tutelage of Brynden Rivers, a greenseer who went by the name The Three Eyed Raven. I was next in line to take his place. In my training I was able to be there and see it all unfold, sight unseen. I did call out for you when you climbed the tower’s steps, but I imagine it was incredibly faint to hear, if at all. Anyway, that’s neither here nor there right now. To answer your question, that is how I ended up with the knowledge of Jon’s parentage. There is also proof of it in Oldtown, where both a maester and septon made note of Lyanna and Rhaegar’s marriage,” Bran told his father.

Shock blossomed across Ned’s face at Bran’s admission. “That was you? In my head I heard the faintest call of a boy’s voice yelling for his father when I climbed those steps but knew not what it was. Gods be good,” Ned whispered.

At this, Lady Catelyn stood up abruptly, nearly knocking her plate and silverware from the table as she did so.

“I fear I cannot bear to hear anymore declarations today from the past lives of my children,” she announced to the table. “It sounds near madness and I can hardly take much more of this. Not all at once.” She turned to her left to face Ned.

“Do I have your leave to go, husband? I wish to pray in the sept and be left alone with my thoughts for the remainder of the day,” she asked with sullenness in her voice.

Ned simply nodded without speaking. Catelyn started to gather her skirts and leave, but Jon called out to her before she left.

“Lady Catelyn,” he called. She turned towards his voice, looking unsure. “Yes?” she replied shakily.

“I decided to be truthful about my parents this morning not to cause chaos or anger amongst my family. I saw that my perceived bastardy would always be an issue for you if I did not, and it would hurt our family in the long run,” Jon began, locking eyes with her again the second time in over a decade.

“We must not keep secrets from each other anymore. We must not let petty squabbles or feuds get in the way of our pack. And for that reason I thought you deserved to know the truth. You may not ever like me. I certainly don’t expect you to love me. But as the time gets nearer to our war with the Night King, we cannot fight amongst ourselves. Not when so much is on the line.”

Jon’s heart was beating erratically in his chest when he finished. All this time and speaking to his father’s wife still gave him anxiety. 

But hopefully he had just changed some of the innerworkings of their relationship.

Lady Catelyn had no response for him. But he saw how she looked at him differently now. There wasn’t the thinly veiled hate in her eyes anymore. Instead there was hesitant respect. 

She nodded once and swept out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Progress! That's all we can hope for, right?
> 
> Btw fellow fanfic addicts-if you have any ideas or suggestions on how things should change this time around for our favorite family, feel free to let me know! I have a rough outline but I'm not in love with it. Canon divergence is hard to write while still making sense. Until next time!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Arya bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the wait was worth it and that you enjoy this chapter filled with Arya and Sansa bonding! Comment, leave kudos, and subscribe! I don't have an upload schedule, but I post when I can. :)

Sansa was no stranger to uncomfortable family meals. 

Every meal she had to partake in with the royal family in King’s Landing after her father’s death was significantly uncomfortable, if not unbearably. Joffrey’s delight at reminding her of her dead relatives and Cersei’s drunken rants made it that way.

Any meal with Littlefinger was also marginally awkward with his unbridled lust for her constantly on display. He thought himself clever with no obvious tells, but his want of her was always written on his face. 

She’d had no more meals with him after her marriage to Ramsay and was all the more glad for it. 

And any meals she’d partaken with Ramsay were beyond the word uncomfortable. Ramsay knew how to turn even the most comfortable silences into ones full of dread, or in his case, glee.

Silences meant that he could think of things to do or say to get under her skin. Like making his pet “Reek” apologize her invading Winterfell and ‘killing’ her youngest brothers.

The breaking of fast she’d just had with her family was nothing traumatic like the ones Sansa had endured in the past. But it was definitely one of the most dramatic she had ever had.

During her first life, Sansa aspired to be the embodiment of a lady. She looked to her mother and Septa Mordane on how to do this and simply followed their lead on how they thought of and treated bastards.

She’d learned quite the lesson on judging people according to their status in the past. Jon was right when he said that some of the worst people can be trueborn and the best bastard born.

She had never expected him to blurt out his true heritage over the meal table. She understood why he had, however.

The information about their return and the little they’d told their family about their demise was outrageous, to say the least. And still her mother chose to focus on Jon’s perceived bastardy.

Jon telling the truth of his parentage, no matter how shocking, was necessary.

It made her think of other relationships she’d try to better this time around. Arya, for one.

Once her father bid them leave the meal table, Sansa would talk with her. Sansa knew that Arya was probably taking it rather badly that Jon was not truly their half-brother.

Besides, the way they treated each other before was silly and shameful. The old Sansa could be petty and cared for naught but appearances.

She did not care anymore if Arya ever turned into the lady that their mother wanted her to be. She wouldn’t let those inconsequential differences get in the way of them anymore.

Her father’s stern voice brought her back to the present.

“Listen, everyone,” he began carefully. 

“What was just discussed in here amongst us is not to leave this room. I don’t have to warn you about how dangerous it would for one of the last living Targaryens to be found out hidden away in Winterfell. If anyone besides us discovered this, friend or no, Robert would charge me with treason. He might even be angry enough to kill me or Jon for it. I can’t say for sure that nothing would happen to you lot either. So please, speak not of Jon’s true heritage to anyone who was not in the room when it was disclosed. In fact, when it comes to speaking on our return, warging, or past or future events, do not discuss it with anyone who is not a Stark. Additionally, do not discuss these things if anyone besides a Stark is in earshot. Am I clear on that?” Ned asked firmly.

“Yes, father,” Sansa answered, along with the rest of her siblings at the table.

“Rickon, I know you don’t like to be treated as a baby, so we’re trusting you with some very important information. Do you think you can do as I asked?” Ned asked Rickon more pointedly. 

Sansa didn’t blame her father for doubling checking with the youngest Stark. In this life, nothing so serious and of importance had been discussed in his presence before. 

He had to know that this wasn’t a game or something to talk about in front of others.

Rickon’s ruddy curls bounced as he nodded quickly in response. 

“I won’t let you down, Father. I’ll say nothing of Jon or how some of you returned unless we’re all together. Everyone I’d want to tell is in here anyways. I can swear it on Ice if you want!” Rickon answered enthusiastically.

Ned chuckled lightly, turning down some of the tension in the room. “I don’t think that’s necessary, pup. Your promise alone means much to me.”

He turned back to the table at large to address them once more.

“For now, just go about your day as normally as you can. I doubt my lady wife will join us for either the midday or evening meal. It’s clear she needs some time to mull everything over as I’m sure many of you need to do as well. So here is my plan thus far,” Ned went on.

“Starting tomorrow, after each day’s evening meal, we’ll gather back together in this room. One of us who has returned will tell their story on what happened in their life before. The daily break between stories should keep us from being overwhelmed and give us time to recuperate between each,” Ned explained, glancing at each of his children.

“After the last person has told their story, we shall then make plans on, to put it simply, how to do better this time around. Is this agreeable to everyone?” Ned asked them.

Sansa thought it was mostly a sound plan, but while the rest of her siblings indicated that they agreed, she’d had a thought.

“Father, as you know from your time in the South, there are eyes and ears hidden everywhere. I’m not too worried on the things we talk about leaving Winterfell. But we all usually do different things after our last meal of the day. How will we explain the entire family meeting up daily for nearly a sennight?” Sansa queried. “I know it’s only a small change in schedule, but I don’t want any news of the Stark family acting out of character making its way to King’s Landing towards Varys, Robert, Littlefinger, or Cersei,” she concluded.

Ned hummed in thought. 

“A good question, Sansa. I’m not sure I look forward to learning how you got so perceptive regarding the politics of the South,” Ned murmured softly.

He stroked his beard in concentration for a few moments before answering.

“The harvest festival of the North is about six moons away. If anyone asks, we’ll say that you girls along with your mother are helping to plan the large feast that will be had and learning more about how to manage a household at the same time. As for the boys and myself, we will be having extra lessons on the North, its people, and what it means to be the Stark in Winterfell. We want all the families of the North to know that the Starks are strong in our knowledge and leadership, after all,” Ned answered.

“A clever defense for us all, Father. After the last one of us tells our story four days from now, we can lessen our meeting days down to once or twice a sennight, claiming that we got the biggest issues out of the way first. We will, of course, have to actually plan for the Harvest Feast as well,” Sansa responded with a smile.

“It’s decided then,” Ned replied, standing slowly from the table.

.“Now that that’s out of the way, I believe you boys have lessons in the training yard, and you girls have lessons with Septa Mordane, do you not?”

Arya’s pleading to be let off from lessons was immediate. “Do I have to, Father? Can’t I go with the boys and-“

Ned’s raised hand cut her off before she could go on any longer. 

“Not today, Arya. Please. It will help me out much more if you simply go to your lessons. Besides, I’d like to talk to Jon in my solar in a few minutes if that’s alright,” their father replied, looking hopefully in Jon’s direction.

Jon looked hesitantly at Ned before nodding slowly, giving his approval for their talk. 

A small smile tugged at Ned’s face at Jon’s acceptance and he gestured to the rest of his children. 

“You’re dismissed, all. Remember what I asked and act accordingly.”

At that, Ned and Jon walked out together side by side. Bran, Rickon, and Robb got up to make their way to the training yard and Ser Rodrik’s drills. 

Sansa got up herself, though she was not looking forward to having a repetitive lesson on sewing designs that she’d already learned. Arya, however, slumped down in her seat and seemed near tears.

“Arya? Tell me what’s the matter,” Sansa offered, though she had an idea of what was upsetting her sister.

Arya chewed on her lip thoughtfully before beginning. “Have you ever been heartbroken, Sansa?” she asked softly.

“Not like in your stupid romantic stories. But so upset at something that it feels like your heart hurts?” Arya’s eyes shined with unshed tears as she asked.

Sansa thought back to everything that had happened in her past life. Her father’s death, Joffrey’s torment, her time with Littlefinger and Aunt Lysa, being married to Ramsay. Losing the rest of her family in the war and deciding to die with Bran.

She nodded sagely at her sister. “Oh, yes. I’ve known much heartbreak in my past life. Nearly more than I could bear to handle. I know how you must feel, Arya. Is it because of Jon’s announcement?”

Arya nodded miserably. “Yes. Growing up, you, Robb, Bran and Rickon all favored Mother in your looks. Jon and I were the only ones who looked like father. It confused me so much growing up that I once asked Mother if I were a bastard too, and if she liked me better because I was a girl. She was properly scandalized,” Arya said, quirking a small smile.

“It wasn’t only our shared looks,” she continued. “We were the ones who were on the outskirts of the family. Robb is the heir, you’re the perfect lady, Bran is adventurous and wants to be a knight, and Rickon’s the baby. I’ve always been the one with the most wolf blood, Father says. I don’t want to be a lady. I want to wear breeches and learn to fight and have adventures of my own without worrying about future betrothals or what other families might think. And Jon didn’t laugh at me or scold me for it. 

He taught me things secretly like the basics of swordplay and archery and not to take the expectations of highborn lords and ladies too seriously. We bonded over the fact that we didn’t quite fit in. I thought Jon was my bastard brother. And it turns out he’s not. He has his own place in the world now, and I feel even more left out from all of you,” Arya sniffed.

“There’s also the fact that there are undead creatures out there who can possibly kill all mankind if we don’t change things enough. Don’t laugh, but I’m actually quite terrified of them,” Arya added, her face flushed in embarrassment.

She was trying her best not to cry openly in front of Sansa.

Sansa grimaced slightly, suddenly hit with a reminder of how she and her friends used to make fun of Arya, for well…everything. It was no surprise Arya would try to hold back her emotions from her, lest she be made fun of like before.

“Don’t be ashamed of being afraid, Arya. I know I used to judge you about almost everything, but I am much changed. And although I was one of the lucky few who never saw any wights in person, I heard tell they were just as terrifying as they sound. But do you know what?” Sansa asked, leaning forward conspiratorially. 

“What?” Arya asked uncertainly. 

“You were among the group of fighters who went with Jon to fight those very same creatures. You would hear nothing of Jon’s wanting you to stay put where it was safe. Most of all, you were an exceptional fighter! I saw you face and conquer many bigger opponents myself, including another lady knight,” Sansa replied with a grin.

“Truly?!” Arya exclaimed, all but squealing in Sansa’s ears. “And no one made fun of either of us?”

“Of course not,” Sansa replied seriously. “Anyone who saw what you two could do would have to be a fool to laugh. I was the slightest bit jealous myself,” she added coyly.

Arya’s mouth popped open in shock at Sansa’s statement.

It made Sansa think of the adage their mother told them often growing up.

“You know, you’ll catch flies that way,” Sansa repeated, giggling softly. Arya joined her soon after, covering her mouth as she laughed along.

“I admit that before, I was a big reason for you feeling like you didn’t fit in with the rest of us Starks,” Sansa continued seriously after their laughter had tapered off.  
“But you needn’t worry about that anymore. You will find your place among us, I swear it. It won’t be hard to convince Father to let us take up lessons in self defense with all that’s happened to us.”

“You’d want lessons too?” Arya asked, wide-eyed. 

“I don’t think I’m much cut out for swordplay. But I’d feel better if I knew my way around a dagger or arrow this time around,” Sansa replied with a wink.

She stretched and made to leave the room. 

“Now, I believe we have some lessons to attend to?” Sansa asked, raising her eyebrows at her younger sister.

Arya’s countenance fell immediately. “I suppose we do,” she grumbled.

“Worry not. When we get there, just follow my lead. I have an idea that might make things easier for you,” Sansa offered.

“Alright,” Arya conceded. “I imagine I’ll never truly enjoy sewing though.”

“I imagine you probably won’t,” Sansa smiled in return. “All the same, let’s make our way there before we’re missed.”

The walk to their lessons was short but quite relaxed between the two sisters. 

It made Sansa appreciate the change in her and Arya’s relationship all the more.

When they entered, they saw a small group of girls sitting in a semi-circle around Septa Mordane.

Sansa recognized Beth Cassel, Ser Rodrik’s daughter, and Jeyne Poole, who was the steward’s daughter among the crowd, looking impossibly young from how she saw them last.

The Septa looked up at their arrival.

“Ladies Arya and Sansa, there you are. I was beginning to think you’d be tardy. True ladies should never be late for engagements, as you know,” the middle-aged caretaker chided.

Sansa fought the urge to roll her eyes in annoyance. She couldn’t believe she had followed such drivel to the letter when she was younger.

The world she’d been thrust into before had little care as to what ladies should and shouldn’t do.

Nevertheless, she remembered that her courtesies had helped to keep her safe not long after her father’s death.

Sansa bowed in a quick curtsy and dipped her head. 

She happened to do so just as she felt Arya stiffen and scowl next to her at the septa’s reproach.

Luckily Mordane’s attention wasn’t focused on the youngest Stark sister after Sansa leapt into action.

“Apologies, Septa Mordane. But our lady mother just bade me to work closely with Arya in hopes to better her needlework. The North’s harvest festival is in a few moons and she wants the three of us to work together on a new tapestry to hang in the great hall,” Sansa replied quickly. 

She nearly felt bad about how easily lies fell from her lips after everything she’d gone through. 

But with the way her life panned out before, it was a valuable habit to have. Sansa hated to admit it, but it was actually very useful the way that Littlefinger had taught her to be a better liar and to spot liars.

She would remember those tips and tricks in the days, weeks, and months to come.

Septa Mordane nodded at Sansa’s explanation. “Very good, Lady Sansa. I was just explaining today’s design and how to execute it. However, if you two would like to start work on your tapestry, that’d be fine with me. Gods know it will take a good while if Lady Arya is helping,” Septa Mordane replied, far too rudely for Sansa’s taste.

“Arya Horseface probably shouldn’t even help at all,” Jeyne Poole whispered hoarsely. It was clear that she wasn’t really trying to whisper, and the girls sitting nearby started giggling immediately.

Arya glared hatefully at the group of girls laughing at her behalf and for the second time that morning, tried not to cry.

Past life Sansa likely would have giggled along with the girls as well as let Jon be talked badly to without a care. 

No wonder both of them felt so out of place among the family before. 

Sansa sighed inwardly. She’d taken up for Jon’s treatment this morning with the Alys, the girl from the kitchens, and her mother. Now she’d do it again for Arya. 

She’d meant it when she said every member of house Stark should be treated with respect. 

She would not respond with the ferocity of this morning with the kitchen girl, for her friends and Septa Mordane still thought of her as a young and innocent girl. She could still be firm, however.

“My pardons, everyone,” Sansa began. The group turned towards her as she spoke.

“When learning of the tapestry project we’re to be working on, it became clear to me that this ongoing feud I have with Arya is silly and mean-spirited. She may not be exactly like me, but it shouldn’t cause spitefulness between us. Encouragement instead of belittling Arya on things she needs help with would likely be more helpful. And her Stark looks are something for her to be prideful of, not made fun of for. Arya my only sister and a lady of this house. I won’t have her or any of the Stark family members talked down upon,” Sansa replied decisively. 

She remembered her courtesies at the last second and nodded her head at the rest of the room. “If it please you, Septa; ladies.” 

The group remained silent a few beats after her speech was over, not sure what to say. Even Septa Mordane’s mouth was open slightly at the shock of Sansa’s spirited reply.

That’s when Arya piped up to break the silence in her own way. 

“You’ll catch flies that way, Septa,” Arya replied with a bold grin on her face.

Sansa couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped from her mouth even as Septa Mordane gasped dramatically. She still gave her sister a bit of a reprimand.

“Arya! We aren’t fighting needlessly anymore, but that doesn’t give you leave to act cheeky to your elders,” Sansa replied, nudging Arya gently in the ribs with her elbow.

Septa Mordane cleared her throat and was able to get everyone’s attention focused back to her. 

“Well then, now that that’s settled, I think we all know of our assignments today,” she stated. “Go ahead and begin and I’ll release you for the midday meal.”

Sansa and Arya took their seats at an empty nearby table while the other girls sat at one a few feet away from them.

“Well, it looks like we have to come up with a brand-new tapestry idea now,” Arya complained.

“I am sorry for that extra bit of work,” Sansa conceded. “But we don’t have to start on the needlepoint parts just yet. Today we can get the design figured out first. What about something to do with a united North? It is for our festival after all. And the North should be reminded that we all need to stand together no matter what.”

Sansa gave Arya a pointed look that the younger girl seemed to pick up on quickly. Between the Red Wedding and the Bolton betrayal, the North slowly fell apart. 

It could not happen a second time.

Arya gave a firm nod in response and drummed her fingers on the tabletop.

“I am actually a bit nervous about sewing this with you and Mother. You both are so perfect at it. I’m nowhere near either of your levels,” Arya admitted.

“You just need more practice,” Sansa replied gently. 

“I know you favor your left hand despite Mother wanting you to use your right for sewing and writing. Maybe that could be one of the reasons sewing is so dreadful for you. You’ve been trying to learn without using your dominant hand. Most people use their right, but it’s not that strange to use the opposite. Some boys fight with their left hands and even Lady Margaery of Highgarden is left-handed…so I’ve heard,” Sansa went on with a knowing smile sent Arya’s way.

“That probably would make things much easier. I’m barely passable at things with my right hand but feel much more comfortable with my left. Thank you, Sansa,” Arya replied genuinely.

Sansa nodded back with a small smile. It felt nice to be on good terms with her sister.

Together they spent the better part of their lesson drawing up a plan for the tapestry they were to make with their mother. 

Arya was a big help when it came to sketching it all out, which Sansa appreciated. 

The decided on a design that was simple enough but one that also sent a message of unity.

In the middle of the tapestry would be an outline of a howling wolf with the silhouette of Winterfell in the middle of the wolf’s chest.

Surrounding the wolf in a circle would be all the sigils of the house of the north.

Underneath it all would be their family’s house words: Winter Is Coming.

Sansa nodded happily after they finished the design. Soon after they were dismissed for the midday meal and the two sisters went off to look for their brothers in the training yard.

They walked up as the boys were taking a final water break. 

Arya ran off to ask Bran and Rickon to show her what they learned that morning.

Sansa noticed Robb making his way to Theon, who was off a ways from everyone else, scowling and sporting a black eye.

Jon followed her gaze and rubbed the back of his head. “I may have been a little too rough?” he answered sheepishly.

Sansa rolled her eyes. “I hope you got that out of your system. He betrayed us, yes, but he helped me more than you know. And he came back to our side in the end,” she murmured softly.

“Aye, he did,” Jon grumbled in response.

Now that she had fixed the bad blood between her and Arya, Sansa intended to move onto Theon next.

They never fought or disliked each other, but Sansa felt that Theon had done as his father wished against Robb because he didn’t truly feel like part of the Stark family. 

That was for another time, however.

“Come on, Jon. Let’s go inside. I want to talk to you about how I thought of a way to bring Sam back to Winterfell,” Sansa began, smiling.

She was quite proud of the plan she made in a quiet moment during her and Arya’s lesson.

“How so? I’d love to have him back here again,” Jon replied enthusiastically.

“By a marriage alliance, of course,” Sansa replied with a smirk.

“Not mine, I hope?” Jon asked nervously.

“Of course not. It’s mine,” Sansa answered, laughing at the look on Jon’s face.

“Seven hells, we’ve only just returned and you’re already marrying yourself off,” Jon grumbled, now sporting a scowl not unlike Theon’s.

Sansa laughed even louder at his statement. 

“Believe me, brother, it’s not something I take lightly. But if it will help our pack, I’m willing to do it. And it won't be for a few years yet. I’ll explain over some tea.”

Sansa breathed in the cold, northern air as she and Jon began to walk inside. 

Her ancestral home was as it was in her first life- unburnt, its walls unbreached, and most of all, it was full to the brim with her family members.

It was good to be back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think Sansa's plan is? I've changed her relationship pairing because of it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Ned talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...let's pretend that season 8 didn't exist, shall we? I'm very pro Dany and Jonerys irl and in this story. No mad queen here!
> 
> Besides that declaration, it's good to be back! When I started I said I wouldn't have a consistent upload schedule, but since December it seems that I post every two months. 
> 
> I can't say when the next chapter will be, but from now on, I'll try to keep the updates within two months of each other. Writing is hard, especially when life gets in the way.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Ned Stark was never one to be rendered speechless.

True enough, he was given the moniker of ‘Quiet Wolf’ growing up along his siblings. It was hard not to be seen as anything but quiet when your siblings all had varying amounts of wolf blood, Ned thought with an internal smile.

Brandon had the most of it out of all four of them. He was brash, confident, outgoing, and unafraid of hardly anything.

It caused his untimely downfall, but it also was one of the reasons he was so hypnotizing to men and women alike.

Lyanna was nearly as bad as Brandon, and likely would have been if she’d been born a male.

She hated it, but their father made it clear that Lya was to act ladylike in public around noble lords and ladies. Around their family, however, it was nearly a lost cause.

Instead of the demure sidesaddle horseback riding other ladies took part in, Lyanna always rode as though she was trying to beat the wind itself.

She (and Brandon) ignored their father’s orders for her not to train with a sword or bow, as Ned was sure Arya and Jon did also.

She had the most boisterous laugh he’d ever heard on a lady before or since that carried across the room wherever they were. And just like their eldest brother, Lya’s emotions could change swiftly from being animated to fuming in no time flat.

Her personality, so unlike the other highborn ladies they came across, enchanted Robert from the start. Ned thought uneasily that it had likely enchanted Rhaegar as well.

Benjen was the baby of the four of them, and to Ned’s disappointment, was the one he saw the least of growing up.

He only got to see Benjen grow up in bits and pieces during his yearly visits from the Vale where he fostered. Brandon did much the same as he fostered in Barrowtown.

That left Benjen and Lyanna on their own most of the time, sometimes with Old Nan trailing them, trying (and usually failing) to keep them in check.

Ned remembered one visit where he had snuck up on them in the godswood and they hadn’t spotted him yet. His two youngest siblings ran and played together exuberantly, their whoops and yells echoing across Winterfell’s usually revered woods. It made him grin watching them be so free spirited.

Yes, his siblings were always a feisty bunch, and Ned was always perfectly fine just taking in their antics and remaining among them quietly.  
Introverted, his mother had called him once with a soft smile. It was one of the few memories he had left of her.

During his fostering with Robert, Ned learned to speak up more and while he still never felt the need to be front and center of anything, his bashfulness slowly left him though his nickname never quite did.

Still, at this moment sitting at his desk with Jon across from him in his solar, he felt absolutely speechless. It felt much like the early days after he’d returned home from the rebellion with Cat.

He wanted so badly to be completely honest with her, but the words always seemed to get stuck in his throat. Similarly, Ned had no idea how or where to start with Jon.

How do you apologize when you’ve lied to someone for their entire life? How on earth do you make that wrong right?

No matter his reasoning, he might have permanently damaged his relationship with Jon, who Ned wholeheartedly considered his son, and his wife. He had no idea on how to fix this, or if it even could be fixed.

Would Jon ever be able to not feel deceived about his heritage? Could Catelyn ever look at him again and not feel fury or betrayal?

It made Ned feel sick to his stomach.

Still, he had to try to explain why he’d done what he had. He looked up into Jon’s steely grey eyes and started.

“Jon, I admit I am at a loss on where to begin to explain myself,” Ned sighed.

He was looking down at his folded hands, desperately attempting to think of what to say next when Jon replied. It was apparent that his anger and apprehension from earlier had cooled from the gentleness with which he spoke.

“Father, I can tell that you are beating yourself up over this. It’s not necessary for you to do that. I’m understandably upset at a few things you did in hiding who my parents are, but I don’t hate you. I never could,” Jon said, placing a warm hand on top of Ned’s.

The warden of the North blinked in surprise.

“You…you still think of me as your father?” Ned asked, sheer wonder evident in his voice. He was so sure that this would be an incredible breach of trust between the two of them that might never be fixed.

“Of course I do. You took me in although you didn’t have to and cared for me. Because of you, I know the meaning of the word honor and what it means to be a Stark of the North. Rhaegar sired me, but you raised me as your son. You are my father. Always,” Jon finished, tears brimming in his eyes.

Ned was stunned by Jon’s passionate reply and felt his throat tighten with emotion.

“Thank you, Jon. Truly. It gladdens me that I have raised you with honor, despite the fact that mine is besmirched. Not because of you, but because of my lies. I swear to do better by you, Catelyn, and the rest of my children this lifetime,” Ned vowed seriously.

Jon nodded thoughtfully and replied, “I’m sure you will, Father. I have no doubt of it.” A few seconds later, a low chuckle came from Jon’s mouth, leaving Ned confused.

“What is it, son?” Ned asked.

Jon looked up at him, still chuckling. “It’s just, I can’t understand how anyone actually believed you! Eddard Stark, the man whose name is tantamount to honor, came home with a bastard and everyone simply went along with it,” Jon answered, smiling.

Ned answered with a smirk of his own.

“After I found you and Lyanna in the tower, I went back to King’s Landing to present Robert with the news of her death myself. That meant I had to take you straight into the stag and lion’s den with me. I claimed I had a bastard, but kept you hidden from sight most of the time, under the guise of not offending the king and his Lannister wife. The strange thing about it was that I think Robert was actually proud of me for taking after him in some way after all those years of being his opposite. And once Robert proclaimed me as having fathered a bastard, who else could say differently?”

Jon started at Ned’s admission, not realizing that he’d been to King’s Landing as a babe. “Gods, Father,” he swore breathlessly. “That was quite the risk you took with bringing me there. I guess it was a good thing that I ended up taking after the Stark looks, is it not?”

Ned nodded in agreement.

“You may have heard whispers when you were younger about the lady Ashara Dayne being your mother. She obviously is not, but these stories cropped up because of the Tourney of Harrenhal, where I admit I became taken with her and her with me, though it went nowhere. I let the rumors persist in case your hair or eyes changed as you got older,” Ned explained.

“And true enough, if you look in just the right way, your eyes can flash a light purple when you’re emotional. Ashara herself had purple eyes, and was of the Stony Dornishmen group, whose family members tend to have lighter skin, hair, and eyes,” he finished.

“Letting people gossip about my parentage certainly made the story more of a mystery and took the heat off of people putting together the pieces of Lyanna and Rhaegar. Still, did you never think of letting myself or your lady wife Catelyn know the truth? It could have saved both of us lots of pain and grief if we knew,” Jon murmured.

Ned hung his head low in shame. “Not telling either of you is one of the greatest regrets of my life, then and now. I had my reasons, though I suppose my reasons don’t matter much in the mind of a wife who feels betrayed by what she thinks is another woman and a motherless son,” he sighed heavily.

“I understand for the most part except for a few things,” Jon replied, albeit a bit irritated. “Did you think I’d claim the throne once I was old enough if I knew?” he asked bluntly.

“That was one thing I was afraid of. I was also wary of you running off to gods know where to find your aunt and uncle if you knew the truth. I wouldn’t be able to protect you like I promised Lyanna I would if I didn’t know where you were,” Ned responded.

“Also, if Catelyn knew that you were family, she’d almost certainly change how she acted and felt towards you. People would start to wonder why she’d suddenly gone soft with her husband’s bastard, and I was afraid that somehow people would put the puzzle together. Cowardly, I know, but I’d rather have the both of you safe and unharmed, yet at odds than the alternative of the realm finding out your secret,” Ned admittedly quietly.

“And what of me going to the Wall, wasting my life away with the degenerates there?” Jon asked lowly, bristling. “So much about our lives would have changed for the better if you have just _told_ me before I went.”

It didn’t take much for Ned to figure out that this was still a sore subject for Jon.

Another heavy sigh made its way from his mouth before he answered.

“Because of the reasons I told you, I figured it’d be best if you made a name for yourself on the Wall. I knew you’d been wanting to go there to do just that, and it eased my concerns knowing Benjen would be there with you,” Ned started.

“You’re right though. I should have told you then, before I left for King’s Landing. Let you make your own decision before swearing an oath that lasted for the rest of your life. With Bran’s fall, my own journey to consider, and the mystery of Jon Arryn’s death, however, I foolishly decided to just let it be and send you on your way. I’m sorry if you felt like I sent you there to throw your life away with brigands and thieves, Jon,” the Lord of Winterfell finished wearily.

After his reply, Jon stared at him quietly for a few seconds, letting the silence stretch out uncomfortably.

Finally, he nodded briskly at his father and exhaled.

“Well, it’s done now. I forgive you, Father. I just implore you to think your decisions through with much more discernment in the near future,” Jon murmured softly.

“Aye, I believe I will. The cesspool that they called King’s Landing woke up me to all of the deception and treachery that occurs there and throughout the realm. I was much too trusting and naïve back then. I know better now and will be slow to trust anyone who is not of the North,” agreed Ned.

“Good. That shrewdness will do you well in this life, Father. Although it seems that members of my family come to realize that being more discerning is better than being too trusting only after tragedies befall them. Robb, Sansa, Arya, Daenerys, myself, and now you,” Jon answered.

Ned’s head whipped up at the mention of the lost Targaryen princess.

“Daenerys? You knew her in the past life of yours? It seems that Robert’s assassins failed then,” murmured Ned. “I never thought you’d be able to meet any of your Targaryen relatives, but it seems life had other plans.”

Jon smiled slowly, his eyes far off in remembrance.

“I also met my twice great uncle Aemon, my namesake, at the Wall. Unfortunately, neither of us knew my heritage. Still, he was one of the wisest and greatest men I knew,” he finished wistfully.

“What about your uncle Viserys? Were you able to meet him as well?” Ned responded. He was quite interested to know what these other relatives of Jon’s were like.

Jon’s pensive smile turned quickly into a frown, however, as he took in Ned’s question.

“No, I never met him. I hope I will have the pleasure of not meeting him again in this life. He was his father come again, cruel, mad, and power hungry about taking back his birthright. He died around the same time you did, I believe. He threatened Daenerys’ unborn son with a sword to her belly in a fit of anger. Khal Drogo, Daenerys’ first husband, killed him for it. Trust me, the realm will be better off without my uncle Viserys,” Jon all but spat.

Ned was a little taken aback at the heat in Jon’s words, but he also trusted his judgement. If Viserys was all that Jon had described, then indeed, Westeros would be miles better without Viserys as king or anywhere near the throne.

It seemed that the saying about Targaryens and madness had a bit of truth in it.

He knew Jon didn’t have any madness within him and it seemed that neither did Maester Aemon at the Wall. That only left the question of Jon’s aunt.

“And Daenerys?” Ned prodded, noticing the blush that crept its way up Jon’s neck and cheeks at the mention of her name. “What was she like?”

“She was my queen,” Jon replied simply, a small smile on his face. The answer boggled Ned’s mind.

“Does that mean that she won back the throne at the end of it all?”

“If we had won the battle against the Night King, it would have been so. Cersei Lannister sat upon the throne but had little and less supporters each day. It would have been easily done taking the Red Keep from her, especially with full grown dragons at our back,” Jon said.

The Lord of Winterfell’s eyes couldn’t have bulged out any further if he tried.

Dragons, truly? Somehow Daenerys Targaryen had brought back creatures that were fire made flesh; creatures that hadn’t been seen in centuries.

Ned also had no idea how Cersei had clawed her way up to being queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but he had no doubt that she’d used vile and treacherous methods to do so.

Before he could ask more about how it all happened, Jon spoke up again.

“Father, there’s something I must tell you about me and Daenerys. Our relationship went beyond aunt and nephew. It started before either of us knew the truth about me, and afterwards I couldn’t bring myself to care about our kinship. It didn’t change how I felt about her. I loved her more fiercely than anyone I’d ever met before. We decided that when humanity won the great war, we’d rule together as equals. Only days before the final battle, she told me she was with child. I would have been a father had things gone well,” Jon said, his voice barely about a whisper.

His eyes were glazed over in remembrance again, and he must have been grieving still for his queen and unborn child.

Shock roiled through Ned’s body at his son’s admission. Jon had nearly ended up on the Iron Throne as his ancestors did before him.

Ned also thought it perplexing yet fascinating that despite being raised leagues apart, the last two Targaryens in the world had found love in each other.

Their close relation gave him pause, but he was not against it or disgusted by it.

His own parents had been cousins once removed and House Stark had married uncle to niece once years ago.

And it was not like Cersei and Jaime Lannister, he thought bitterly. The twins’ parents were first cousins, and when they knowingly coupled together to make their own perverse children, it was astonishing that only one of three turned out mad.

Call it hypocrisy or perhaps nepotism, but Ned could not find it within him to find Jon’s confession off-putting.

As long as Jon and Daenerys didn’t plan on marrying their children to each other like so many of their past ancestors, Ned believed that the old Targaryen saying might eventually be obsolete.

“Are you disappointed by this news, Father?” Jon asked, breaking Ned out of his own thoughts.

Jon’s brow furrowed as he continued. “I know our relationship was unusual, and admittedly, we were not married before our child was conceived-“

Putting a hand up to stay Jon’s words, Ned cut him off.

“Peace, Jon. I’m not disappointed in the least. I’m happy that you were able to find someone that you loved enough to start a family with. Daenerys sounds wonderful and I should like to meet her someday,” he smiled.

At that, Jon let out an exhale of relief.

“Thank you, Father. It comforts me to know that I have your blessing in this should she and I meet again this lifetime. I know not if she or I will end up as King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms this time, only that I want to be with her. Frankly, I could take or leave the throne,” Jon shrugged.

“That’s good to hear, son. You’re levelheaded enough to know that you have no great want of ruling. However, those who don’t want the responsibility of leadership are often some of the best because of that,” Ned replied sagely.

Jon groaned at that. “So I’ve heard. But thankfully, that’s neither here nor there right now,” he answered with a smirk.

“You speak truly. Besides, I believe I’ve taken up enough of your sparring lesson today. Was there anything else you’d like to speak about before I let you go?” asked Ned, grateful that their talk wasn’t a bitter one.

Jon thought about his father’s question briefly before answering.

“No, I think our talk was long overdue and very welcoming. It was what I wish I could have had once I found out about my parents. I only ask…” Jon trailed off, suddenly shy.

“Yes? You know that if there is anything in my power that I can do for you, I will, Jon,” Ned prodded gently.

“I know it, Father. I wanted to ask if you’d tell me more about my mother. Perhaps not today or the next few days so that things may settle down. But sometime soon I would love to hear stories about my mother from one of the people who knew her best,” Jon finished, hopeful of Ned’s reply.

“Of course, lad! Perhaps finally speaking of your mother will help ease the sadness that still clings to the memory of her in my mind. I’ll call on you in a few days and we can speak of her here in my solar.”

Jon seemed satisfied with Ned’s answer and was dismissed to his training with the rest of the boys.

Their discussion took a lot of out the Lord of Winterfell, and yet he felt content that he and Jon were on good terms and had no more secrets about his mother between them.

He could not say the same for he and his sweet Catelyn, and it grieved him immensely.

Ned knew that Cat would likely be true to her word and spend the day in Winterfell’s small sept praying. Knowing her, she’d also be worrying and fretting between her prayers, like as not.

His children were all young and while it was probably disorienting to the ones who returned, children often adapted to changes very quickly.

Even Arya and Rickon didn’t seem too phased on all the changes that happened to their siblings overnight.

As for Cat and himself, it’d probably take longer for the changes to sink in and not seem like madness.

Even though he’d returned himself, the thought alone of all of their past lives was mind-boggling in the least and nearly paralyzing at its worst.

For now, all he could do was leave Cat to her prayers and hope that her heart had not hardened against him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get a Catelyn chapter next! What do you think her feelings on everything will be? Thanks so much for reading, subscribing, commenting, kudos-ing, etc. They really make my day! :)


End file.
